Midnight Rider Read Free Page A

Bannister, and Royston Wardell fell in beside them.
    â€œWhat’s happened?” Austin called to the mounted man, who turned and rode toward them on his weary, lathered black horse.
    â€œThe Spanish Dragon,” he said, sounding as short of breath as the horse, “that bastard El Dragón hit the Overland where it crosses the Hollingworth spread. Robbed a shipment of gold coming back this way from the San Francisco mint.”
    Hollingworth stepped out of the darkness beside the barn. A man in his fifties, tall and lean and weathered by his years of hard work, he recognized the rider as one of his own men.
    â€œChrist a-mighty, Red—most a’ that gold was ours. Coin I needed for payroll.”
    â€œHe struck early, boss. He ain’t done that before. It was just after the stage left the Beaver Creek stop, soon as it got dark. They say he come down like greased lightning. Took the gold and was halfway to the hills before they knew what hit ’em.”
    â€œDamn! The blackguard has a way a’ catchin’ a fella unawares. I had a bad feelin’ about comin’ here tonight.”
    The man named Red rubbed the stubble of a day’s growth of beard. “He’s a crafty one, all right.”
    â€œDid he shoot anybody?” Fletcher Austin broke in.
    â€œNo, him and his vi-queros just took the gold and run.”
    â€œHow many of them were there?” Austin asked.
    â€œâ€™Bout a dozen. That’s what the guard said. He’s lookin’ for some help to go after ’em. I figured most of the men were here.”
    â€œGet your horse, Charley,” Austin said to Hollingworth. “I’ll round up the rest of my men.”
    â€œI will come, too,” Ramon offered, as did Alfredo Montoya.
    â€œWhat’s the use?” Hollingworth argued. “By now the bastard’s clean away. Halfway back to whatever rock he crawled out from under.”
    â€œThis time, we’ll find him.” Austin jerked open the heavy barn door. “We won’t stop till we run the whoreson to ground.”
    The other men mumbled their agreement; there was quite an array of them by now. The women were standing outside the barn door, uncertain exactly what had occurred, when the men emerged leading their saddled horses. Ramon led his palomino toward them, then waited for Alfredo to join him. He turned at the sound of a woman’s voice.
    â€œWhat’s happened, Uncle Fletcher?” Caralee McConnell caught her uncle’s arm, her pretty face lined with worry, one hand clutching the cashmere shawl she had draped around her bare shoulders.
    â€œGet back to the house, honey. This is men’s business. You just see to the ladies, and the men’ll take care a’ the rest.”
    Ramon could see she wanted to press him for more information, started to, then backed off. “I’m certain Uncle Fletcher knows what’s best,” she said to the women. “Why don’t we ladies retire to the house for a sherry? I’m sure the strain of the evening is beginning to wear on us all.” With an uncertain glance at Ramon, she turned and started walking away.
    The strain of the evening, he thought. He wondered how long pampered little Caralee McConnell could stand the strain of the life many of his people were forced to endure each day—all because of the treachery and greed of men like Fletcher Austin.
    â€œMount up, men,” Austin commanded. “It’s time we were away.”
    Ramon swung up on his palomino stallion, slid his boots into his silver-studded tapaderos, and followed Austin and his men at a brutal pace off toward the Hollingworth ranch.
    *   *   *
    They had no luck finding the outlaw, which set Uncle Fletcher on edge for nearly two weeks. In the evenings he paced the floor in front of the huge rock fireplace at the far end of the sala. Carly tried to talk to him, to comfort him in some way, but he